


Bending to Your Will

by Pugio



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Actually it all boils down to, Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, But not to Harry, Dark, Gratuitously Hot Voldemort, Harry is a servant, I'm just splitting hairs now, Implied/Referenced Prostitution, Like the smut, M/M, Or Is he?, People make do in a shitty world ruled by Voldemort, So assume all the shit that comes with that, The fic is dark and Tom/Voldy won, The fic is dark but Harry isn't, There's good stuff too, Who looks like Tom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:01:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23672737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pugio/pseuds/Pugio
Summary: Harry's a servant at Hogwarts. He was born a servant. There's no need to talk about Voldemort winning the war - that's in the past.But it doesn't mean he isn't trying for a better world.Of course, that's only after he's dusted the corridor, watered the greenhouses and thrown out this corpse.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Harry Potter/Voldemort
Comments: 85
Kudos: 377





	1. Eins

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mendacium_dulce (lux_veritatis)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lux_veritatis/gifts).



> An exchange fic for the lovely Menda. <3  
> And it was promised since last year so this has come unfashionably late. 
> 
> This has been beta-ed by the wonderful Wolven_Spirits and showered with love by amazing FermionCat. Which means it's loads better than when I first started.

Harry took a deep breath to steady himself as he slowly dragged the large bag out. He was careful not to make a single sound. He could see Ron’s pale face from where he stood, holding the other end.

“Where do we put this?” Ron asked, his voice quivering in fear.

“Out the back,” Harry said curtly. It did them no good to speak while they were still in the central part of the castle. Ron was new to this, though, so he could well forgive the other servant.

Together they left through the arched hallways till they reached the back of the castle, where Harry indicated with a jerk of his head towards the dark forest. As they stepped past the edge of the forest, Harry led them a couple of miles in before he finally dropped his end of the bag. Ron followed suit, then immediately backed away several paces and promptly threw up.

Harry leaned on one of the trees and allowed his heartbeat to settle. It never seemed to get easier no matter how many times he did this. Perhaps that wasn’t entirely accurate; he’d surely learned how to better control his reactions. He folded his arms as he watched Ron take deep gulps of air while tears ran down the face of the red-headed young man.

“Are you done? Because the wild beasts will come soon, drawn to the scent of blood. I want to be far away from here when that happens,” Harry said. His words were cold and harsh, but he kept his tone soft in recognition of the other servant’s emotional state.

“They tortured and killed them,” Ron whimpered, “four muggles –”

“Five,” Harry corrected him gently, “now let’s go, there are better places where we can talk.”

Harry took Ron’s hand and pulled him along. They had not gone a couple of steps before the sound of rustling leaves and snarling could be heard.

“Run,” Harry whispered urgently, as he rapidly picked up pace. A quick turn of his head showed him Ron following behind, his eyes wide with fear but determined. It looked like this one had survival instincts. Perhaps he would last longer than the rest.

With a burst of energy, Harry made it out of the forest with Ron close behind. “Don’t slow down, we aren’t safe until we reach the protective enchantments of the castle,” he panted out. Heavy footfalls made it clear that Ron had followed his advice. When he reached the shelter of a broken-down hut, he pulled open the door and gestured for Ron to go in, before pulling the door shut behind them.

“This hut stands right at the edge of the ward enchantments,” Harry explained after he took a few breaths. He busied himself boiling a kettle of hot water while Ron sat at the old wooden table, the rickety legs creaking as the young man leaned on it. “I like to come here when the time allows,” Harry continued, “because hardly anyone else comes here. This kettle is magic, which was a great find, and it can boil water as long as you trace this rune on its handle.” He wasn’t a talkative person, and it was difficult for him to fill the silence, but Harry knew that Ron was in shock and would appreciate a little bit of human company. He took two cups down from where he stored them in one of the broken cupboards and gave them a cursory wipe with the cloth from his pocket. Servants couldn’t afford to waste their drinking water on things like washing cups.

“Why did you come to the castle?” Harry asked, careful not to face Ron even as he kept the other servant visible from the corner of his eye. 

“My mum collapsed from working in the fields,” Ron clarified. He didn’t need to say anything more. It was always the same story; the promise of better pay to save a struggling family. They would usually see some modicum of success, perhaps send galleons back home for a couple of months, enough for the family to live for years, before their body was sent back too, if they were lucky. Harry had seen cases where there was nothing more than a finger to send back.

“You?” Ron asked bluntly. Harry sighed as he poured the boiling water into the two cups and brought them over to the table. He sat opposite Ron and gestured to the cup. Ron looked at it, a little suspicious but not wanting to pass up on some extra water.

“I’ve lived here all my life,” Harry held his hands over the steaming cup to warm them up. “Orphan,” he added. Ron gave an answering grunt. They stayed silent as they both nursed their cups of water. Ron looked at Harry several times, before casting his eyes away.

“You have questions,” Harry stated. Ron nodded in response. “Ask,” Harry said with a solemn expression, “knowing more is the only way to extend your survival.” He saw the flare of determination in the other’s eyes and knew once again that Ron might have what it took to stay alive here.

“Okay then,” Ron took a deep breath, “I want to know how many times we’ll have to do… _this_ in a week. What else do we do? What’s this job really about? The Carrows said you would show me the ropes. And, who should I avoid while I’m here? Other than the Carrows because that bit’s obvious. We didn’t see the Dark Lord; does he ever appear? I heard he has a lover, have you seen her?”

Harry smiled and set his cup down. He liked Ron – the young man was rough around the edges from a hard life, but he was straightforward, and his eyes showed all his emotions. An honest man.

“That’s a good start. I’ll begin with the third question – what this job is about. We’re servants for the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters, which means we do their bidding. All of it. For the most part we stand in rooms during meetings as we did today, unless they tell us to leave. We are at their beck and call. If they need something, it is our job to figure that out at the soonest and provide it to them before they even ask. Everything from dusting their cloaks for the parties to removing the bodies.

If they want food and wine that is largely done by the house elves, but if they ask specifically for you to serve them, then you must do so without delay.”

Ron frowned but nodded. Harry gave a moment for the message to sink in before he continued, “Providing the muggles for their entertainment and cleaning up happens when there are meetings, so an average of three times a week. Four if there’s a party, though that hasn’t happened in a while.” The words left a bitter taste in his mouth, but he wasn’t going to sugarcoat it for Ron. The young man had a distinctly green tinge to his face now.

“During other times we help out with odd jobs in the castle. The more you work on menial labour, the less you need to interact with the Death Eaters. I work mostly with the plants in the greenhouses. You’ll be assigned somewhere in your second or third week, I reckon. Unless you’re assigned to the greenhouses with me – very unlikely – I will not be able to help you there. As to your other question, avoid everyone. The Carrows gave you that cut your cheek? Yes well, they’re the least of your worries. It’s the friendly ones like Mulciber who you must avoid at all costs. They like to play; give you hope and then wrench it all away.”

“What should I do?” Ron asked, his worry evident on his face.

“Stay in a corner, stay quiet, act as if you don’t exist,” Harry summed up.

Ron gulped and nodded. Harry drank the rest of his water and refilled it with the remaining water from the kettle. “Lastly, the Dark Lord appears whenever he feels like and yes, he has a lover,” Harry shrugged, “any other questions?” 

“Thanks for all this,” Ron said gesturing about in the air, “just one last question… what’s in the Gryffindor tower? Why were the Death Eaters headed there after the meeting?” 

“The Gryffindor tower is the pleasure quarters,” Harry replied, “where the Muggle-borns are.”

The two fell silent.


	2. Zwei

“Mate, you really helped me out that first day, you know,” Ron said, stretching his arms out after another day of toil at a Death Eaters meeting. He slumped down on the flagstones in the courtyard where Harry was sweeping next to a set of arches.

“How so?” Harry asked, grinning down at the young man whom he had become fast friends with. Ron was quick to learn, spontaneously helpful to Harry, and surprisingly humorous, which brought levity to the many dark days they had to face. Had the world been a better place and had they met in a different situation, Harry rather thought they would have been able to build a deep and lasting friendship. Harry hoped dearly that Ron would survive his time here and bring back enough galleons to support his family. Mrs Weasley had sounded like such a wonderful mother in Ron’s stories that Harry keenly felt the absence of his own.

“Told me to keep my head down,” Ron shrugged, “which I have. Even though the other servants are always trying to get the attention of the Death Eaters. They don’t see me as competition which is good.”

Harry nodded, “they want to elevate their status, which they can if a Death Eater favours them. But that’s no way to ensure long-term survival.”

“I noticed,” Ron added, “that the Death Eaters have never asked you to carry out the bodies.” He laughed self-deprecatingly. “It’s one of the things I’m at least passable at, observation. But thank you for helping me, even if you weren’t ordered to.”

“You’re welcome, but they won’t ask you for much longer,” Harry assured Ron.

“Because they’ll find a new target?” Ron wondered aloud.

After a moment, Ron shuffled his feet before turning to face Harry.

“Has anyone ever succeeded,” Ron asked hesitantly, “in getting a Death Eater’s favour?”

“What do you think?” Harry smiled wryly.

“It was worth asking. Who knows,” Ron laughed, “maybe someday someone will get lucky.”

“Perhaps,” Harry smiled enigmatically. He dusted his hands off and set the broom into a recess in the wall. “Want to take a look at the kitchens?”

“Can I?” Ron asked excitedly, “I thought we weren’t allowed there because they fear that we might want to poison them.” Ron kept an innocent and disbelieving tone, though his expression suggested that he would indeed like nothing more than to poison the Death Eaters.

Harry winked, “I can take you there, we’ll be fine.”

“Okay, because, I don’t want to die,” Ron warned him.

“Duly noted,” Harry laughed as he led them through the doors towards the kitchens. The house elves were busy at work, and they lifted their heads, delighted to see Harry, but promptly looked away when they saw Ron. It was for the best – if it got out that he’d brought Ron, Ron would surely be punished. If the house elves pretended not to see, then no one was going to get hurt.

Harry, however, was not about to begrudge Ron some proper food. The poor man looked starved.

“Here,” he said, handing a plate of chicken pie and roasted vegetables to Ron. The man stared for a full minute before shaking his head vigorously.

“Ah, I don’t think we’re allowed to, Harry!” Ron exclaimed. Harry hummed in response, before placing the plate down on a table next to his own identical dish and began slicing the pie. The savoury scents wafted out towards Ron, who was red in the face from holding his breath.

“Okay, there’s no going back!” Ron announced as he finally caved in and joined Harry at the table. Harry grinned as they both ate voraciously, surrounded by candles, silent house elves and a crackling fireplace. It took hardly any time for them to be done, after which Harry led them out once more, though with pockets now laden with sweetmeats. Ron was fairly skipping down the hallway, more energetic and happier than Harry had ever seen him.

“This was amazing, I haven’t had a good time for many years now,” Ron grinned. Harry smiled back fondly.

“I was afraid I wouldn’t make it out of here alive. And then I see you, having lived here your whole life and… don’t get me wrong, I’m really glad you’ve survived all the madness here; I’m happy we’ve become friends too,” Ron said shyly.

“I’m happy to call you my friend too,” Harry agreed.

“We should have toasted to our friendship, Harry!” Ron laughed openly, a joyous display of what he probably was like at home. He whipped around with his eyes sparking with mischief, “Also, how did you manage to find your way into the kitchen the first time?”

Harry was about to reply when he stopped short at the sight of the figure that had just rounded the corner. His face must have given something away as Ron’s smile fell off and he rapidly turned pale. Slowly, Ron turned to see a cold and haughty face sneering at him.

“A Weasley, sullying the hallway,” Malfoy sneered, “running about instead of sticking to the walls with your head down like the vermin you are.”

Ron shuddered and instinctively took a step back from the venom lacing Malfoy’s words.

Quickly, Harry moved to stand in front of Ron. “He didn’t mean anything by it,” Harry said softly. Malfoy only seemed to notice his presence now, small as he was, Harry was completely eclipsed when he was standing behind Ron. Malfoy startled before smirking.

“Why Harry, I hadn’t seen you. How sneaky of you,” the blond drawled.

“Same to you, Draco, I didn’t hear your footsteps at all,” Harry pointed out.

“A Malfoy only announces his presence at the precise moment that he wants to,” Draco said smugly. He looked at Harry then at Ron, his ice-gray eyes narrowing.

“What are you doing hanging out with a Weasley,” Malfoy’s sneer directed fully at the redhead.

“We work together,” Harry hastily replied, “I’m bringing him around, uh. Training and increasing his – his energy. He needs to be in top shape and form for the upcoming party.”

“Is that so?” Malfoy said disbelievingly, “Weasleys are always replaceable.”

“Not this one,” Harry said firmly.

Malfoy crossed his arms and studied Ron for a moment, his distaste at the existence of the servant plain for all to see. “Very well,” he finally said, “but get out of my sight.”

Harry turned to Ron and mouthed ‘go’, his expression betraying the urgency of the matter. Ron quickly retreated, hiding and blending into the shadows as soon as he could. Draco turned back to Harry and shook his head in disappointment. “You shouldn’t be hanging out with riffraff like that, Harry,” Draco pursed his lips.

“I’m a riffraff too,” Harry raised a brow, unimpressed.

“We both know you’re not, but who am I to judge what kind of fantasy you like?” Draco smirked.

“I-It’s not a fantasy!” Harry spluttered. It really wasn’t! Couldn’t Draco see that it was an important stand Harry had to take?

“You keep telling yourself that,” Draco sighed, “eventually you’ll cave, but maybe you’ll do it when the time is right.”

“What do you mean,” Harry asked puzzled.

“When you can exchange your submission to our Lord for something else you want,” Draco said smugly. “You’re no innocent, Harry. Even if you’ve convinced yourself otherwise. You’re a proper Slytherin. And as a fellow Slytherin, let me give you a word of advice. You’ll make the changes you want only if you are in the right position to do it.”

With those words said, Draco turned on his heel and strolled out of sight, leaving Harry staring at the empty hallway, pondering.


	3. Drei

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please enjoy~~  
> (I say this like it's a happy story... *sweat* uhhh well maybe I'll write a happy horror one for the next story.)

The next day, Harry woke to a gloomy overcast sky and tried to squash down the feelings of despair that rose. Two years and still he hadn’t managed to push for any real change. Perhaps he simply wasn’t doing enough. Harry took a deep breath. Today he would try harder, he would put his own safety on the line if he needed to – changes always came at a price.

Harry bit into a small bun. It was a little stale but still edible. He wasn’t about to fill his stomach in case he retched from any awful sights and smells later. The meeting in the morning had been scheduled a month ago and was to be led by Avery, so it promised to be worse than usual. He trudged out of his room and down the hallways towards the other end of the dungeon, where the meeting would be held. On his way, he bumped into a frantic Ron.

“Harry, oh Merlin! Are you alright? Oh, thank Circe you look okay! I was so worried after that Malfoy thing, but here you are looking completely fine!” Ron rambled.

Harry laughed, “I’m alright, just as you can see.”

“Merlin, I had a hard time sleeping last night. I couldn’t find your room, and no one could tell me either,” Ron said.

“Ah, I’m slightly further from where the new servants are. My room’s right at the end of the third corridor on the left hall of the dungeon,” Harry replied.

“Oh, I’ll remember that,” Ron nodded, then stopped short.

“Wait a minute. Where are we headed?” he asked, looking about in puzzlement.

“Avery’s called a meeting,” Harry said, “but if you weren’t called to it, I’d suggest you don’t go.”

“Right. It was optional for me, but I get two galleons if I attend it,” Ron pointed out.

“That is true, but this is not your average meeting” Harry insisted, “Avery is one of the cruelest around.”

Ron fell silent before shaking his head with resolve. “I wish I could afford to miss it, but every galleon matters for my family.”

There was nothing more to be said. It wasn’t as if Ron’s situation was unusual; many others would have made the same choice. More than anything, Harry hated that such situations of having to choose between their family’s survival and their own were all too common in the times they lived in. Harry decided there and then he would do his utmost to protect Ron. He stared at the roster where Ron’s name was at the bottom, his eyes hard with determination.

***

Ron shivered and quaked, as the bodies of Muggles piled up in the centre of the room. He could not even tell which limbs belonged to whom. They had started melding into a mass of flesh that shifted, writhed and coiled before his eyes. He could see the faces; eyes wide open and mouths locked in a scream of agony. The ritual was well under way and was to continue for another few hours. Ron found that he could barely hold on to his consciousness. He had already lost his breakfast to some corner of the room earlier.

Ron felt as if he were plunged into the deepest and darkest bowels of hell. All around the ritual circle, the Death Eaters were engrossed in their sick revelry. They were masked as they always were in the meetings, but instead of their usual stoicism, the Death Eaters were screeching in delight and dancing in madness. Their euphoria and rapture at the sight of Muggles in pain echoed around the room and reverberated about in the confines of his skull. The noxious magic was stifling; a horrendous clamp across his chest, making it hard to breathe. He was clenching his jaw so tightly that his headache pounded relentlessly. Ron could see two of them across the room ripping apart a Muggle from head to toe, sparing only his neck so that they could prolong his suffering. The four nearest to him were partaking in the flesh of another Muggle, using her body for their own pleasure as she collapsed and broke under the strain. She looked hardly older than Ginny.

Ron couldn’t tell if it was the smoke curling up from the burning pile of bodies that blurred his vision or the tears that welled relentlessly from his eyes. A tight grip on his arm caught his attention and Ron looked in confusion at the other servant.

“Harry?” he croaked out, a sob clawing its way out of his throat.

Harry pursed his lips; an expression of grim determination set in his face. “Ron,” Harry whispered urgently, “listen carefully. Very carefully. The next group of muggles are to be brought in from the back. I need you to go there and lift open the hatch on the left. Remember, the one on the left. Do not tarry, once you’ve done that, go right back to your room and don’t come out until evening. Do you understand me?”

Ron nodded in a daze, registering the instructions and nothing else.

“Go,” Harry said, pushing Ron harshly in the direction of the door. The black-haired man turned to look back at the sacrificed Muggles in the room, with anger, sorrow and resolve clear in his green eyes. Ron took one last glance before he backed shakily out of the door. When it sealed shut behind him, the noise and screams cut off instantly, as if it were a mere nightmare that could be locked away. Ron took deep gulps of air before breaking out into a stuttering run that gained speed as he raced to the back where the muggles were kept.

He stopped in front of the two hatches. From where he stood, he could see them leading out to two separate tunnels. Left. Harry said the one on the left.

“Where’s Harry?” One of the muggles called out to him. Ron whipped his head around to look more carefully at the young man. He had a sort of build that looked as if he could have been beefy if he had sufficient food.

“Dudley,” one of the women cowered and hid behind him, “careful, you don’t know that he’s with Harry.”

The small dungeon room was packed with Muggles, with hardly an inch between each of them. Ron looked at their grim faces and felt the helplessness of reality sink in. In that moment, he made a decision that allowed him for once to stand straight and sure.

“I’m with Harry,” Ron said, his voice cracking only a little. He took a deep breath and then pulled at the lever opening the left hatch. The Muggles gaped at him before they swarmed out into the dark tunnel, their shouts for freedom a cacophony that leeched what courage Ron had in an instant. He shrunk back into himself, curving and minimising his height the way he learned to do since working in the castle. Ron took one more look at them and did as Harry said. He ran away, away from this place, back to his room…

Back to where it was safe.

Except nowhere in the world felt safe anymore.

***

That night, Ron heard shouts in the dungeons, from under the covers of his tiny cot. The voices were engaged in a loud discussion about how some of the Muggles had managed to escape, putting a severe damper on the Death Eaters’ ritual. Unfortunately for them, they had enlisted some of the servants in a search, including one Harry Potter, but still could not figure out how the Muggles managed it.

Ron smiled to himself, his cheek brushing against the dried tears on his pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos/bookmarks/comments!! I'm so touched UwU


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